


The Fremont Street Experience

by nigeltde



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, Preseries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:40:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27930166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nigeltde/pseuds/nigeltde
Summary: the way young lovers do
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 16
Kudos: 116





	The Fremont Street Experience

**Author's Note:**

> Summary and vibe stolen from Van Morrison's The Way Young Lovers Do.
> 
> Set the summer before Sam's last year of high school.

They leave Dad in Silver Springs and gun it south. The highway narrows fast and empties and Dean, indiscreet and hungry, reaches over and puts his hand on the back of Sam's neck for the first time in days. The sun has teeth. It's summer so Sam can't be pissy about homework and it's summer so he can't wear those shapeless hoodies he's taken to and it's summer so his skin is slick where Dean touches him, his hair damp at the roots, tangling Dean's fingers. His face is glazed with sweat and he grins sweet and excited at Dean. Anticipation fizzes in Dean's veins, dances in his fingertips. The sand shimmers, hazes, glitters. There's so much sky. It pours into the road at the horizon.

Six hours later Vegas is under cloud, dark and electric. The traffic slows on the 95 through the suburbs and crawls behind the resorts, but it's the Strip he wants Sam to see so he takes a left and merges into the chaos. Late afternoon and the lights are on already. It's a wide street, palms all down the middle and most of the cars are cabs and limos, Hummers. A lot of dyed blondes, dudes in polos, a lot of big Midwesterners pulling their shirts away from their chests looking poleaxed.

"It's just a bunch of buildings," Sam says, staring unimpressed at a Gold X-Change. Dean snorts. They're passing the Wet n Wild when lightning flickers, and the sky cracks. Sam jumps. The girls in the convertible next to Dean shriek and raise the top, and Dean salutes them and gets a blown kiss in return. He laughs, and looks at Sam, and finds him laughing too, delighted, face pressed against the window to watch the rain splat down in waves.

The sun's crashing by the time they get to the motel, a couple streets back from Fremont, broken formica and bald carpet and a window on the sky glowing through the rain. Two king beds that Dean tests with all his weight and while he's lying there stretching out eight hours behind the wheel Sam clambers up and over, all legs and his hair mussed so it makes Dean's belly flip tender and wanting with how young he looks. Sam settles down and grinds in against Dean's hip, hand curled up under Dean's arm and locked around Dean's shoulder. His cheek against Dean's, hot breath blasting his ear. Dean closes his eyes, opens his knees and hooks his ankles over for leverage, arches up, finds Sam's mouth as Sam sticks his hand down Dean's shorts. It never takes long. He comes sucking on Sam's tongue and Sam moans when he feels it, jerks him through the last pulse, grinding in still, and Dean flips them and sinks down and blows him, holds him as he bucks and makes it fast, catches Sam's load in his mouth first then his hand, a feeling in him so big he doesn't know what to do with it so he bites Sam's thigh and sucks a deep bruise into it, Sam writhing, making high keen noises.

"That wasn't your present yet," he says, afterwards, hoarse, and Sam pushes up on his elbows and blinks at him, mush-brained, lips moving like he's doing the math. His birthday was a month ago so Dean's overdue. He's got an idea. In porn the guys taking it always look like they're running wind sprints, red and strained, and he thinks if someone was gonna hold him open and push in it should be Sam even though Sam's packing. He thinks he'll like it, if it's Sam, naked, strong and golden and greedy the way he gets when they're in it, like he can't get enough. He thinks Sam will like it too.

"What's my present," Sam says, eyes going dark again. Dean licks his lips, roughed up from what he just did. He never imagined he'd get used to the taste. Took no time at all.

"Wayne Newton tickets."

"You can't afford Wayne Newton tickets," Sam says, amused and sly, worming his hand back down to Dean's oversensitive dick and Dean bows away and digs him in the ribs, makes him yelp. They clean up. Down at the corner 7-Eleven Dean drops a few bucks in the slots next to spindles of dinky souvenirs while Sam combs through the aisles like he's landed in alien territory, eventually settles on a Jack Link's and a bottle of water that's half gone before they get outside. The rain lifted while they were in there and the world is wet and blazing, streetlights and storefronts and neon, signs saying girls! and cigars! and jackpots! smeared on the ground. To their right is the ambient hum of Fremont Street. A woman in a poncho pushing a cart with great focus might have come right out of Blade Runner.

Sam's hair curls up from the rain, makes him look like he lost three years, eyes nearly buried under his bangs, wiping out any chance Dean had of bluffing him into even the shadiest casino. They pass a club, Glamour, line already reformed back out along the sidewalk, catch a whistle or two and Sam pauses, staring like a tourist, figuring it out as Dean keeps on. _Get him honey!_ yells a guy, as Sam breaks and jogs to catch up, red-cheeked. Dean hooks an elbow around his neck and drags him down for a noogie and says low in his ear _got you,_ and it twists so hot in his chest to say that with Sam struggling in his grip, he has to let go in case he gets done for indecency.

They hit Fremont and the canopy and the big cowboy dude, huge and cheery and surreal. The air is saturated, fresh rain smell and steamed up street rot and cigarette butts, people streaming back and forth with their pits stained and their eyes glued to the lightshow up above, their faces changing like kaleidoscopes. Some dance song deafening from the speakers. The only show Dean can see is his brother, tall and lean, ten feet away with a giant blue-jean cowboy behind and with his head craned back like the rest of them and his lips parted in surprise, Dean's heart, his whole heart out there washing blue, pink, orange, in amongst all the strangers, and his hands in his pockets and his shoulders resting easy. He looks up so he can see the same thing Sam's seeing. Birds burst out of a rainforest as some Enya crap starts up and he feels a gentle bump against his arm, his brother back in close, leaning in so Dean can feel his heat.

"So is this my present," Sam murmurs, and Dean nods, says yep, yup, all yours, and Sam's smile splits into a laugh, clear even in all this noise. Something in Dean takes off. A win, every time, making him laugh. "Hmmm," Sam says, frowning, sceptical, and grins so wide his cheeks crease. Dean grins back, reaches and grabs a fistful of his shirt, over his chest, shakes him back and forth for no reason other than to prove that they exist, and Sam laughs again, wraps his hand around Dean's wrist. "Yeah, okay," he says. His eyes dance, and Dean loses his air, his mind, the whole world except his brother right in front of him. "Then I love it."

**Author's Note:**

> [Rebloggable tumblr link](https://nigeltde-fic.tumblr.com/post/636717439438274560/the-fremont-street-experience) for those so inclined.


End file.
